


There's something to be said for the comfort zone

by Builder



Series: Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cooking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Vomiting, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 07:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12294600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Bucky's trying new things as part of his recovery.  Some work out better than others.





	There's something to be said for the comfort zone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wiseinnerwhispers](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wiseinnerwhispers).



> This is prompt for Tumblr. Find me @Builder051.

They’ve decided that Sundays are the days for trying new things.  It gives Bucky a predictable schedule, but keeps him reaching just a bit outside his comfort zone.  This week, the challenge is green chilecheeseburgers.

 

Steve had gotten the idea from Sam, who’d spent a couple years stationed in Albuquerque back in his pilot training days.  “It has to be the real deal,” Sam had said, giving Steve the URL for the Chile Traditions website.  “Actual chile from Hatch, New Mexico.  None of that mild grocery store stuff.  The spice’ll knock your socks off, but the flavor is worth it.”

 

The jar of real deal 505-grown and fire roasted green chile had come in the mail on Friday, and Steve’dgone out to buy the rest of the ingredients on Saturday.  Now it’s Sunday lunchtime, and Bucky’s griddling a couple of thick Angus beef patties while Steve toasts fresh-baked ciabatta rolls.

 

“Smells great, Buck,” Steve compliments as he drags a knife through a block of sharp cheddar.  Bucky transfers the slices on top of his cooking burgers so the cheese will melt. 

 

“Yeah, I think I like this idea,” Bucky replies.  He gives the burgers another few moments in the pan, then moves on to assembly.  The burgers are slid onto their buns, and topped with generous scoops of greenchile, thick tomato slices, and leaves of butter lettuce.  Steve spreads the top buns with mayo and presses them down to complete the sandwiches.  Bucky fills the empty spaces on the plates with potato chips, then takes the food to the table. 

 

“I promised Sam a full report,” Steve says as he sits down and scoots in his chair.  “If they turn out really good, we’ll have to add these to our entertaining menu.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees.  He picks up his burger.  “Here goes.”  He takes a large bite, trying to get a taste of every ingredient in his mouth at once.  The green chile is immediately apparent, flavorful and blisteringly spicy at once. 

 

“Good?” Steve asks as Bucky chews and swallows.

 

“Wow.  Yeah,” Bucky says, “Sam wasn’t lying about the kick.”

 

“I’m sure,” Steve says, taking a bite of his own.

 

The second bite brings a slight prickle of sweat to Bucky’s upper lip.  The spice is borderline overwhelming, but good.  The roasted flavor brings a lot to the simple burger.  It doesn’t take long for him to polish off the sandwich and calm down the heat lingering on his tongue with a mouthful of chips.

 

“So,” Steve poses when he’s cleared his plate and is wiping grease from his fingers, “You say that was a success?”

 

“Yeah, for sure,” Bucky replies. 

 

“Spicy is a go, then,” Steve muses.  “We can probably expand the menu in a lot of directions from here.”

 

Bucky makes a sound of agreement as he rinses the dishes and puts them in the dishwasher.  With his stomach full, he’s starting to feel heavy and sleepy.  He’d woken up in the middle of the night again, and the lack of sleep seems to be making itself known now.  Bucky stifles a yawn as he transfers the oily frying pan to the sink.

 

“Getting tired?” Steve asks. 

 

“Hm.  Yeah,” Bucky admits.

 

“I’ll finish up with that, if you wanna lie down for a while.”

 

“I can do this,” Bucky says, squirting dish liquid into the pan.

 

Steve materializes behind Bucky and takes the sponge from his hand.  “Go take a nap,” Steve says.  He kisses the side of Bucky’s head.  “I can come bother you in a little while, if you want.”

 

“That, uh, that might be nice,” Bucky says.  Steve playfully shoves him out of the kitchen, and Bucky climbs the stairs, enters the bedroom, and drops onto the bed.

 

Bucky wakes suddenly, and at first he’s not sure what’s jarred him back into awareness.  His mouth tastes weird, and sweat’s prickling up between his eyes.  He pushes himself up, first onto his stump arm, then to seated.  Nausea hits him like a runaway train, and the accompanying vertigo almost throws him back to the mattress. 

 

No.  He can’t be back to this.  It’s been years now, plural, since his body stopped violently rejecting everything he ate.  Sure, the odd bad taste or off texture will mess with him sometimes, but a fucking burger shouldn’t cause problems.

 

Expansive heat is rising in his throat, and Bucky can’t get his feet on the floor fast enough.  He’s resigned to spraying the bedspread with undigested stomach contents, but all that comes is a long, dry belch that he instinctively hides behind his fist. 

 

It’s odd and painful all at once.  Bucky feels his stomach sloshing of its own accord.  He gets shakily to his feet.  He feels the urge to gag pressing into his chest, and Bucky tumbles into the ensuite, only making it to the sink before a combination of dry heave and burp erupts from him. 

 

Aside from feeling awful, Bucky’s confused.  This is different.  This isn’t his stomach refusing to digest food.  This is his body calling things off mid-process.  It’s something he doesn’t remember dealing with, if not ever, then at least in such a long time that he’s thoroughly out of his depth.  He should lie back down. Maybe in front of the toilet.  Bucky’s sure he’s going to be ill, he just doesn’t know when. 

 

He’s on the point of using the towel rack to lower himself to his knees when sharp pain flashes through his abdomen.  Bucky leans into the wall with his arm around his stomach.  Once he can breathe again, he turns and heads downstairs.

 

Steve’s at the kitchen table making an attempt on a crossword puzzle.  He hears Bucky come down, and he doesn’t look up from the newspaper when he says, “You didn’t sleep very long.”

 

Bucky takes a deep stabilizing breath.  “Stevie…”  He swallows hard against the pressure in his throat.

 

Steve looks up, his brows furrowing as his eyes alight on what Bucky assumes is his colorless countenance.

 

“I don’t feel good,” Bucky murmurs.  He presses his fingertips to his lips, hoping that whatever’s churning inside him will stay put for at least a moment.

 

Bucky doesn’t see Steve move, but he’s suddenly being whisked down the hall into the bathroom as, “Ok, hold on just a sec, almost there,” sounds in his ear.

 

Steve gingerly deposits him in front of the toilet and gets the seat up, then Bucky lurches forward with the force of a massive empty retch.  He has a second to gasp for breath before a mortifyingly loud burp follows, bringing an acidic taste, but still only air.

 

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky breathes, trying to spit out the saliva that’s pooling under his tongue.  “I’m sorry,”

 

“You’re ok.  Just ride it out,” Steve intones, tracing his fingers down Bucky’s spine. 

 

Another spasming dry heave comes up, and Bucky clenches his stomach muscles, pushing with his throat to goad his stomach contents to just come up.  The next contraction ends in a wetter-sounding belch. Bucky’s ready to stick his finger down his throat and just get it over with, but Steve grabs his hand before he can move far enough to do anything. 

 

“It’ll happen on its own,” Steve soothes.  “You’re doing fine.”

 

Bucky braces his stump arm on the toilet seat and breathes raggedly.  His back arches and a small splash of fluid hits the toilet water.

 

“There, ok, you’re ok.”  Steve brushes Bucky’s hair back from his face.

 

Another tremendous heave bursts forth with rush of thick fluid that’s horribly bitter and still slightly spicy. It’s too much to breathe around, and Bucky almost chokes on it. 

 

Two or three more waves come up, forceful enough to splash back up onto the toilet seat.  “Alright,” Steve murmurs. 

 

Bucky pants.  There’s still mucous clinging to the sides of his throat, but he’s so exhausted that he’s afraid he’ll pass out if he tries to hack it out.

 

“That was, hm,” Steve sighs.  “Are you…do you feel a little better?”

 

“I, uh, I guess,” Bucky says weakly, wiping his mouth on his stump shoulder.  “Jesus.  That was…”  He breaks off with a groan.

 

“Yeah.”  Steve reaches up and offers Bucky the hand towel.  “Think maybe the food didn’t set with you so well after all.”

 

“’S an understatement…” Bucky exhales.  He swipes the towel over his face and accidentally sets his elbow in something wet on the toilet seat.  “Fuck.”

 

Steve takes the towel back and sees to cleaning Bucky up properly.  He’s still slightly nauseous, and tiredness makes his head and limbs almost too heavy to move.  Steve feels his clammy forehead.

 

“No fever.  But I didn’t really expect you to have one anyway,” Steve says.  “Is it just your stomach?”

 

“Kind of my head now, too,” Bucky whispers.  “Fucking tired.”

 

“Feel like you want to go back upstairs?  Lay back down?”

 

“Yeah.”  The nod makes Bucky’s head swim.  “You’ll stay?”

 

Steve drops the towel into a corner of the small bathroom and negotiates Bucky to his feet.  “’Course I will.”


End file.
